Deco Records All-Dayer


Akin to all alldayers of old, Deco pick and mix from an eclectic inventory of bands that vary in sonic and, unfortunately, qualitative terms. Allowing inexperienced bands to share the bill early on is admirable, affording them an opportunity to hone their craft and test their metaphoric mettle; yet as a spectator it makes for a start that veers into the lukewarm. The singular entity of Geisterhaus commence the event, and through observation his set highlights the need for additional personnel; so as to flesh out what he is trying to convey, for it simply lacks the intensity one would desire from that type of style. The Rodents keep the bar (accidental pun) stationary throughout their disjointed set, relying on covers and somewhat forgettable ‘originals’; it indicates a band very much in the embryonic phase… perhaps a rehearsal or ten could remedy that. Following on, the instrumental 3 piece Slab are a welcomed step up from their predecessors, possessing a fluidity that spares them my immediate disdain, although my interest starts to peter out as their set draws to close, a similar feeling to the other instrumental act later on. Slap Rash demonstrate once more that numerical superiority isn’t really necessary (contradicting myself?) if one can harness simplicity in an engaging, shifting between instruments type of fashion.

Presumably around the half way point, one of the more interesting performances comes from the band hailing from the unfortunate dwelling of Coventry, Wolf Suit; a quasi-stoner dirge with varied 70s elements brought in (more psychedelic than anticipated?). Although the disorientating presence of the saxophone is sorely missed (hopefully not permanent), the guitar’s frequent ventures into Ritchie Blackmore-esque atmospherics in conjunction with the reverse-gendered Morrison delivery earn them a unique accolade that largely eschews the annoying ubiquity of punk; I have a suspicion this band will achieve the illusive Jazz Odyssey in the near future. Other bands play and interest me to a degree (‘degree’), but they don’t have the lasting impression of the other acts I’ve written specifically about; shorter sets almost rob the artist of getting a proper chance to win people over, but then again the flash in the pan feel can really amplify an audience’s interest, although this particular setting hamstrings this effect.

Poor lighting, vegetarian accompaniments and the feuding of bassists aside, Furrowed Brow persist in their wearing a colourful dress like sound and negate the problematic microphone by using other, less problematic microphones to emit their delightful black humour. As the ethanol slowly envelops the bloodstream, the 3-piece at the end of the roster (see the poster for more details) pick up their specific instruments and humour each other as is common with instrumental familiars; on at least one song it reminds me (vaguely) of a moderately malevolent Gun Club, but then again Death Rattle doesn’t strike me as something the late Jeffrey Lee Piece would concoct. Lyrics about being tied to a skull (neurosurgery goes DIY?) and violent urges would certainly perturb animals sensitive to high frequencies, but it appears to liven the audience to an extent that it almost brings the venue out of its subdued disposition; diary entry complete.

Furrowed Brow: Soundcloud | Facebook 

Angus Rolland

Recent career decisions have compelled me into the journalistic... thing; I could list my literary influences or even debate which 3rd rate beverage has the best economic value per litre (But I won’t). Oh, in addition, I write reviews for the Independents Network.